


there are flowering vines winding their way around our hearts

by behzaintfunny



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Awkwardness, First Meetings, M/M, Mutual Pining, Quite a lot of manc hate, The progression of Carra in a week's time as shown by coffee, but who's my main character huh?!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 16:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14139633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behzaintfunny/pseuds/behzaintfunny
Summary: Through Tesco's finest brews to ridiculously expensive coffee, Jamie experiences what seemed like an ordinary week at Steven's flower shop.





	there are flowering vines winding their way around our hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blindbatalex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindbatalex/gifts).



It’s Sunday.

The doorbell chimes a disgustingly familliar tune just as he sits down to look through his paper and sip on the storebought coffee. Whole three pounds worth in hand, he hides behind the countertop and lets his co-worker do his duties. The damned place is called _Steven’s_ , after all, so he’ll have his break whenever he wishes and let Steven chat the clients to death. If he’s punished for it, then so be it. He doesn’t look up from the newspaper once. His ears pick up an odd accent - a man’s voice saying he’ll let his friends know about their shop. Jamie pretends not to have noticed how Steven did his little victorious dance once the client had left. It's not like he cares.

It’s Wednesday.

Steven is Stevie now. Things are going well and they sell twice as many flowers as they did last week. Jamie's forgotten to ask Stevie why -- Stevie seems far too gone to care why he's earning more, he's just purely delighted. Jamie’s finishing planning out the bouquet for Mrs. Neville across the street - poor woman had just lost her husband. He's never liked making bouquets for funerals but they usually retail for much more. He is invited to the funeral of course and he might just turn up, an extra rose in hand and his most prestigious thrifted suit on. It all depends on whether he can afford to have it cleaned after his and Stevie’s celebrations over the big sums coming in have gone a little out of hand. Sweat patches, red wine stains alongside other bodily fluids may not be the most appropriate funeral attire. He can now afford his local cafe’s coffee. A client comes in as he takes a sip, speaking in his most exquisite, gut wrenching Manchester accent. The plastered smile never leaves Jamie’s face all throughout when the man places his order. Tulips and peonies respectively it is. Jamie intends on telling him that he needs time to make the bouquet as aestethically pleasing as possible, a day at least. The client’s wearing his saddest expression though, and so he has the flowers ready for the bloke in less than an hour. Stevie later nudges him at his side, telling him this is the same guy who came in on Sunday, no less upset-looking and his eyes definitely no less dreamy. He's not patricularly a model nor what he usually considers attractive, yet Jamie can't exactly figure out why he hopes to see him again.

It’s Friday.

The funeral is in two days’ time. There are a lot more clients coming in and a surprising percentage of them is from Manchester. Stevie doesn’t allow him any negative remarks so as much as he wants to tell them to piss off to somewhere else, that is just not an option. It would really seriously hurt his paycheck. _Steven’s_ is about feng shui and the peace of mind, not punching Mancs in the face.

_("Just one Manc, Stevie?"_

_"Shut the fuck up, Carra.")_

He takes slow breaths in and instead focuses his annoyance on cutting the hydrangea’s excess branches off. Before he manages to cut the tip of his ring finger off, he notices in a group of clients the same exact man that comes in every two days. He looks a little happier with those people who seem to be his friends. One friend of his, so-called Butty (Jamie is no one to judge), decides on the most expensive bouquet, especially for his wife. Jamie catches his apparent favorite client hitting Butty on the arm and making a hideously surprised face. It makes Jamie chuckle. Seemingly forced by Butty, the guy orders two red roses for the sake of it. He catches the man’s eyes _\- Gary’s eyes, you fucking idiot, it's Gary now -_ and is rewarded with a flash of a gentle smile on his way out. It all happened so fast he forgot to, in true Steven’s fashion, babble about what flowers make up the sold bouquet. He already sees Steven's glare on his back even without looking. His Costa coffee is spilt on the floor and his work nowhere near done, but finally he is somewhat content.

It’s Sunday again.

His tie is undone and there are those stupid, tiny leaves in his hair, the rose in his hand is clutched so tightly it forced quite a lot of blood out, and he is late to the funeral. He tries to be as low-key about it as humanly possible and never hisses although his blood is causing even more of a mess than the wine did last week. Mrs. Neville’s speech is heart wrenching and his bouquet, the very product of his finest work, beautifully adorns the marble grave. He talks to everyone once she is finished, remembering the personality that was Mr. Neville - always loud, always problematic, a true Manc until the end. All this socializing tires him out, sure, and he soon loses count of the people he had spoken to. He would normally be drinking coffee now as it's past noon, some gross expensive brew Stevie had bought. He’d be freezing his arse off on the cool, uncomfortable panels, the scent of roses filling his lungs to the point of it being overwhelming, choking…

“Nice blood you’ve got there. Pretty shade of red, although it’s a shame it got all over your shirt. That'll be hard to wash off.”

_Huh?_

He is caught off-guard and regains focus hastily. Before him is the same man he’s been seeing sporadically all week, in his full glory, clothed and wrapped in an expensive suit. _Probably Dior_ , he thinks. He seems oddly sad, sorrowed even. Jamie figures that's what funerals do to you.

“Nonsense! It’s just wine.”

Gary snorts, “At a funeral? Have some decency, at least.”

Jamie lies, “See, funnily enough, I was just making my way here when I saw an injured cat lying on the pavement. I just had to help her, she was giving birth and it caused a serious mess…”

“I doubt that,” Gary rolls his eyes, “I can see your rose. You’re a really bad liar.”

_The audacity of this guy! He thinks he’s some fucking mind reader!_

Jamie smiles pathetically, “Maybe so.”

“Would it hurt any less if I took it from you?”

He offers it to him, face flushed and hand shaking slightly, and Gary takes it wearily as though not to hurt himself. He laughs then, a grin so genuine it looks almost wrong considering where they are. Not that he’s complaining, no. It is the single most beautiful thing he has ever seen a Manc do. He could easily get accustomed to seeing it more often.

**Author's Note:**

> that's it folks! your daily dose of carra being an awkward pining scouser!  
> this was originally posted on tumblr as a drabble but now has undergone a few changes and made it here. (i know it's still short but amidst all the finals, this is the best i can do) i dedicate this to alex because they're the one that have sent me the prompt and i adore them.
> 
>  
> 
> ...i live off of your feedback


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